Unfathomable
by BlueRiverSteel
Summary: Hermione Granger was a brilliant witch; but there were some things that baffled even her. The love of one Ron Weasley, for instance...R/Hr, post-war, I know it's been done, but I love their relationship and want to explore it. My first fic! Please R&R! Rated M for later chapters.
1. Realization

There were just some things Hermione Granger would never understand.

She was a clever witch, no doubt, some might even say brilliant; but there were things that were just so far beyond her ability to logic that she knew she'd never fully comprehend them. The hatred some wizards had for Muggleborns was one such idea. Or what had driven Tom Riddle to become the most powerful and evil wizard the world had ever known. Or what depths of anger and pain drove him to unleash such suffering on those around him—often, even his followers.

These things baffled her analytical mind, and had caused her and those she loved so much trauma, it broke her heart and gripped her soul to think of it.

But there were also some things she would never understand that were beautiful beyond words. Her friendship—not even, it was truly more of a sibling relationship—with one Harry Potter was such a thing. She knew him almost as well as she knew herself; knew what made him smile, what made him hurt, what made those vivid green eyes of his shine. She knew his heart, and she loved him for it; that crazy, heroic nature of his that was at times so maddening, but she knew deep down she admired.

But the one thing that baffled her most of all, at the same time its wonder floored her, was the way Ronald Weasley was looking at her right now.

It was over, all of it—the fighting, the living on the run, the constant hiding—so much had been lost, so much won, so much saved, and so much destroyed; and now, the look in his eyes as they stood in the Gryffindor common room in the middle of the night, neither able to sleep, nearly undid Hermione's composure completely. There were endless possibilities in those eyes; the promise of a million nights of ecstasy, just as many mornings of careless, dreamy satisfaction, waking up to his warmth and affection for the rest of her life, if she wanted it. His eyes spoke of adoration, of wonder, of anxiety she might not choose him, after everything they'd been through. Of joy, of incomprehensible sorrow, of relief and of pain.

The man she had once accused of having the emotional range of a teaspoon was demonstrating enough emotion in his eyes right now to send her reeling.

"Ron?" she murmured, her voice breathy and cracked.

He took a step closer, reaching for her. She stepped into his arms, never breaking eye contact. She wanted desperately to kiss him, but felt like things needed to be said first; they needed to determine exactly what they were, even though it seemed obvious to Hermione—she wanted him, forever, and he wanted her.

But it couldn't hurt to say it aloud, right?

He took a shaky breath, stroking her cheek. "'Mione," he whispered. "I…please, can I….I really want to….you…oh bloody hell." He blinked and shook his head, pulling back a couple inches. "I can't think with you that close."

She smiled, and moved back a bit herself. "Better?"

He nodded jerkily, "A bit." Steeling herself, Hermione watched his lips as he formed the words she needed so desperately to hear.

"I should think it would be obvious after earlier today, but…things happen in the heat of the moment, and I want to be very clear what that kiss meant to me. I love you, Hermione. So bloody much it scares me sometimes. Will you…be my girlfriend?"

She closed the distance between them in a microsecond, squeezing him into a tight hug and taking a sobbing breath as her logical mind tried to catch up with what her heart was telling her.

He loved her! _He_ loved her. He loved…._**her**_.

She loved him too. Oh, how she loved him.

She murmured it into his chest before she quite realized the words had escaped, and he pulled back. "What was that?"

Blinking, she looked up at him, suddenly shy.

"I love you too. Oh Ron…I love you." Her face drew closer to his, inexorably closer, moving slowly, until their lips met softly—a kiss so different from the sloppy, desperate one they'd shared earlier. This one was full of confidence and promise—a taste of the kisses to come for hopefully many years yet.

They pulled away a few moments later, foreheads resting against one another, too physically exhausted to really do what they both wanted; although if the tingling between her legs was any indication, Hermione was quite certain remaining celibate as his girlfriend would very soon prove impossible.

She grinned, trying not to blush.

He gave her a lopsided smile, clearly not knowing quite what she was thinking, or it would've been a smirk. "Is that a yes?"

She nodded, still breathless from their kiss. Ron shivered in delight.

"Wicked."


	2. Chapter 2: Aftermath

_A/N—Wow! You people actually want to read this! That is really exciting, lol, especially for a new writer. So exciting, in fact, I'm handing out biscuits and giving you a new chapter already! Yes, this will be a multi-chapter fic, I'm honestly not sure how long yet. Generally, I'll probably be updating about once a week, so y'all know what to expect. _

_In most R/Hr fics I've read, Hermione and Ron go to Australia together to restore Hermione's parents. I wanted to veer away from the norm here, but the god's honest truth is, it makes too much sense for Ron to go with her….so he will. _

_Enjoy!_

_**Chapter 2-Aftermath**_

_It was so dark. Where was he? More importantly, where was __**she**__? He could hear Bellatrix's evil cackle somewhere in front of him, her vindictive screech of "Crucio!" and his blood ran cold as Hermione screamed in the distance. _

"_HERMIONE!" he bellowed, running forward, hands in front of him like a blind man. He couldn't see a thing, couldn't tell where he was going. Where WAS she? She screamed again, this time off to his left. He turned and ran blindly toward the sound, her sobs filling his ears and wrenching his heart. "Hermione!"_

_Finally, he broke out of the darkness and found himself standing in blindingly white light. Hermione was on the polished floor in front of him, curled into a fetal position, pale and sweating. Bellatrix stood over her triumphantly, laughing gleefully and shouting the curse again. Hermione's back arched with her agonized cry, convulsing, hands ripping at her hair, tears streaming down her white cheeks. Ron roared his horrified anger, reaching for his wand. His hands met nothing but air and the fabric of his jeans._

_His wand._

_He had no wand._

_It was happening again…Hermione was being tortured, and he was powerless to stop it._

_Bellatrix cackled again, and he growled. 'Power isn't only in magic,' he thought, and rushed the witch. She levitated just out of reach, taking Hermione with her._

"_Your poor, sweet Mudblood," she sing-songed above him. "Such a smart, clever little girl. It's a shame I have to kill her…right in front of you…"_

_Ron screamed as Bellatrix's lips formed the words, her wand tip touching Hermione's neck:_

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Ron woke with a yelp, jumping into a sitting position. Harry started at his best friend's cry, hand reaching for his wand, but moving back a moment later. It had been like this every night since the end of the war, Ron waking up sweating and cold and panicking. Harry knew Hermione suffered as Ron did, and thought, not for the first time, that they ought to just sleep together—they didn't seem to have the nightmares, or at least not as badly, when one was within reach of the other. He cracked one eyelid open.

"Alright, mate?"

Ron, wide-eyed and shaking, nodded. Harry stared at him, until he looked down, shaking his head instead.

"I need her."

"Then go to her," Harry replied. "I've told you every night you ought to. I know you need to feel her near, so go. You gotta sleep sometime, mate, you look like hell."

Ron grimaced. "Thanks, Harry."

Harry shrugged, too comfortable with his brother to retract the statement. Besides, if it made the man get some rest….

Ron sighed. Harry _was_ right, after all. It had been six days since the end of the war, and the only time he'd slept the night through was when Hermione curled up next to him in his four-poster, just after they'd become an official couple.

This night had been the hardest, so far—the night after he buried his older brother.

The funeral had been a nearly celebratory affair; even George had rallied to pay tribute to Fred's playful nature. He'd even laughed—a sound Ron hadn't expected to hear for a very long time—and brought out some of his and Fred's very best fireworks to set off in the back yard that evening. It had, on the whole, been a much better experience than Ron had anticipated, and Hermione hadn't left his side the entire day, holding his hand when he faltered.

He owed her so much. He shivered again, remembering her pale face and trembling form…how much agony she'd been in at Malfoy Manor, her limp form in his arms at Shell Cottage, the hateful word scrawled in blood over her forearm, Bellatrix's wand pressed against her neck….

God, he needed to hold her, right now.

He lurched to his feet, Harry muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, _'finally'_ as he left the room.

Ron crept down the flight of stairs and through the hall that led to Ginny's room. He hoped he didn't scare her with his quiet knock: Ginny was a formidable enemy when frightened. He held his breath until the door opened a crack. It was Hermione. Seeing her face nearly undid him as she studied him, opening the door further without a word.

She knew.

She stepped into his arms with a muted sob. He wondered what dreams she'd been having—she clearly hadn't been asleep when he knocked, there was no residual drowsiness in her eyes—and how long she'd been needing him. His arms tightened around her at the thought; Hermione waking in tears, shaking and afraid, and him….not there.

He murmured into her hair, nonsensical phrases about how much he loved her, that he was there and would never ever leave her again, how it was all going to be all right now. Hermione stopped trembling after a few minutes and pulled back slightly.

"Stay with me?"

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Of course."

They lay down on her cot, scooting close; it was obviously not intended for two, and Ron had to bend his knees to prevent his feet falling off the end, but it forced her entire body up against his, so who was he to complain? She hummed in quiet satisfaction, resting her head on his shoulder and slipping an arm round his ribs. He stroked her hair softly as she whispered, "you're so warm, Ron."

Her voice was low and melodic, and he felt a stirring below the waistband of his trousers, forcing his breath to remain steady and trying not to think of her touching….oh damn. Her tousled hair between his fingers, her soft frame pressed to his side, her leg slipped between his; none of it was helping him prevent what he felt coming on. He sighed, this was not the time! He'd just woken from a nightmare that had left him breathless, and she clearly had too, or just not been asleep at all; he was supposed to be comforting her, reminding himself she was alive and whole and his.

He tried to ignore the suggestive voice at the back of his mind that smirked and replied there was no better way to remind him she was his than to….

_Oh, bollocks._

While he tried unsuccessfully to force his body into submission, Hermione's fingers had begun to move, stroking his side gently. She too, was apparently feeling…something…as her face burrowed into the crook of his neck, and he felt her lips press against his skin, heard her shaky exhale as she nuzzled him. He twitched slightly, god she was sexy, and turned his head slightly so her next kiss landed on his jaw. She looked at him with wide eyes, asking permission, and he tilted his face further toward her, pressing their lips together in answer.

The kiss remained chaste for only a moment, before his treacherous body responded eagerly, probing her lips with his tongue and, when she opened to him without hesitation, exploring her mouth. She tasted fantastic; like honey and fresh air. _Summer_, he thought to himself. _She tastes like summer._

A quiet moan escaped before he could stop it, and she shifted so she was lying on top of him, her hip now pressed against his rapidly stiffening…problem. He hissed in pleasure at the unexpected pressure, moving his hands to her hips and pulling her tighter against him. She made a little startled sound into his mouth, but relaxed a second later and moved slightly, instinct telling her to grind into his hips. His own began to rock slightly as he moved his hands to her bum, rubbing firmly, holding her. Her hands explored his chest, her lips leaving his to pepper his neck with moist kisses and little nips.

"'Mione…." He moaned.

"Will you two _please_ quit?" came Ginny's sleepy, grouchy voice from the bed across the room. "I can _hear_ you, you know. It's quite disturbing."

Hermione gasped. Ron could see her ears going red, even in the half-light the moon provided through Ginny's window. Amusement bubbled inside him, and he laughed out loud, garnering a slap from Hermione and a grunt of annoyance from Ginny.

"Oh, Ginny, I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered, her mortification evident. "I had completely—"

"I don't want to know!" Ginny cried, pulling her pillow over her head, causing her next words to be muffled. "Just go to sleep!"

Hermione buried her face in Ron's chest, and he thought he could feel the heat from her blush through his shirt. He grinned and rubbed her back slowly, aiming to soothe her to sleep, inwardly cursing the fact he'd forgotten whose room he was in.

He rubbed at Hermione's back gently until he heard her breathing deepen, allowing her comforting weight and her heart beating against his chest to lull him into the first deep sleep he'd had in almost a week.

A few days later, at breakfast, Hermione announced her intention to leave the Burrow for Australia, to find and put to rights her parents. Ron's mum and dad, who had been, until that point, unaware what Hermione had done to protect them, were enthusiastic about the idea. The war was over, the last of Voldemort's followers being mopped up; there was no reason she shouldn't bring them out of hiding and restore their memories.

"I can arrange portkeys for you," Mr. Weasley offered kindly. "Although travel abroad still may be a bit dangerous—Voldemort had followers all over the world, not just here in Britain."

Hermione nodded. "I'll be all right, no one knows or will expect me to be going so far away so soon."

"Us," Ron corrected.

Hermione looked at him askance. "what?"

"Us," he repeated. "I'm coming with you, of course."

Hermione's eyes flicked between Ron and his mother, who had stopped chopping carrots for stew and was studying her youngest son's face. A moment later, she blinked and went back to her work. Hermione couldn't identify the look she'd given him, but she was certain Ron's mum was not okay with this. She put a hand on Ron's arm.

"Not necessary, Ron. I'll be fine on my own. And my parents will probably be livid, you may not want to be around for the drama that will ensue," she gave a shaky laugh, trying to disperse the tension and her own fear of her parents' reactions. But Ron was shaking his head.

"You're not rid of me that easily, 'Mione. You don't have to go through this alone, let me come," Hermione's lips twitched at the wording, but her eyes still said no. Mrs. Weasley, perhaps sensing Hermione's reason for demurring, spoke up, "He's right, dear, you'll need someone to run to when things get rough over there. Also, it really isn't safe to be travelling halfway across the world by yourself. Especially now. Ron will accompany you."

Hermione met Mrs. Weasley's eyes, an understanding passing between them, before she relented.

"All right, Ronald, you can come with me to Australia."

He smiled at her, "Wicked."

The rest of breakfast was spent discussing portkeys and proper procedure for foreign travel and how Hermione would track down Wendell and Monica Wilkins. It was determined Ron and Hermione would leave within the next few days—after Hermione visited her childhood home and made sure everything was ready for her parents, and Mr. Weasley had arranged the portkeys. He explained the distance requirements for portkeys would force them to catch about five different ones, but that he'd have more details later.

Hermione left breakfast with Ron's hand in hers, and a warm, pleasantly excited feeling inside her chest.


	3. Chapter 3: Normalcy

_A/N: Happy Wednesday everyone! Here's a chapter, in honor of "Over The Hump" day—just two more days til Friday!_

_Also, I'll be going out of town next week, so the next chapter will either be earlier than usual, or later than usual. I promise to get it up as soon as possible, though! _

_**Normalcy**_

_Sunlight filters through green leaves, making the grass around me appear dappled…..dappled, that's a nice word. Words are wonderful, I don't understand people who don't want to use them…I mean, what can't you say with a few well-chosen words? Words evoke beauty, and thought, and feeling….they're truly wonderful. Honestly, the invention of language has to be mankind's greatest achievement, I think. Yes. _

_Of course, there are some times when words simply get in the way, I suppose. Like when Ron…when we…yeah. That's not a time for words. Actually, I think my earlier statement was slightly untrue—the feeling I get when I'm with him; that can't be put into words, well-chosen or few. It's so very…inexpressibly joyful. I really think—_

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by the two teens flopping down on the grass beside her. She grinned over at them, they looked windswept and hot. "Hello," she began.

Ron looked over and made a face. "Mum is on a cleaning spree. I swear…" Harry moaned.

"I know," Hermione laughed. "She put me to work in the cellar this morning, I've only just escaped a while ago."

Ron grinned, while Harry looked at her with interest. "And what have you been doing out here?"

Hermione felt a blush creep up her cheeks in spite of her efforts to suppress it. "Thinking. Some of us do that, you know." Ron propped himself up on an elbow, moving a hand to touch her side as he winked, "and what were you thinking about?"

Hermione almost shoved him off, for Harry's sake, but a truly wicked idea popped into her head; it would fluster Ron and make Harry mock gag in embarrassment. So she sidled closer to Ron instead, adopting what she hoped was a sexy smile, and cooed, "I was thinking…" here she ran her fingers up his forearm, "….about things that would make those adorable big ears of yours redder than your hair." He drew in a sharp breath, and Harry jolted upright, looking wildly about for something to comment on that would steer the conversation away from things that made Ron blush—which he was currently doing. Hermione's lips twitched as she fought to hold back her laughter, but the boys' combined discomfort—Ron's red face and Harry's wide eyes—was too amusing. She fell back to the grass, giggling madly. Ron realized what she'd done and looked at Harry. The two shared a thought, then reached for Hermione. Before she could react, they'd set to digging their fingers into her sides, tickling mercilessly. Her laugh grew to a shriek, shouting for them to stop between breathless laughs. After a few moments, she was able to reach her wand and gasp, "Aguamenti!" shooting water at the boys' smiling faces. They yelped and fell back, laughing heartily. Ron didn't stay away long, shooting Hermione with a jet of water from his own wand, but Harry was distracted by the redheaded girl approaching them. As Ron and Hermione continued their water fight, he stood and brushed off his clothes, running his hand through his wet hair and straightening his glasses.

Ginny smiled as she approached, and slipped her hand into his. "You three are a mess."

Ron and Hermione stopped, obviously unaware of her presence until that point. They grinned up at her. She laughed, "come on, you lot. Mum says lunch is ready."

Lunch was a cheerful affair, small but delicious. The boys moaned about being hungry, but as it was Hermione and Ron's last night home before they left for Australia, Mrs. Weasley retorted that she had a huge dinner planned, so they'd best save their appetites for it. Hermione looked gratefully at the woman who had practically adopted her, had filled a motherly role in the aftermath of the war, had given both Ron and Harry—and even Hermione herself—a sense of being cared for they hadn't enjoyed in over a year. Even through losing a son, Mrs. Weasley had somehow managed to continue caring for her family and being the quintessential mother figure. Hermione thought perhaps she found comfort in the role, but realized how much strength it must take to do so. She made a mental note to hug Mrs. Weasley tightly before bed tonight.

For now, she nudged Ron with her elbow. "Come on, hurry up. I want to get to the house early in case there's…cleaning up to do." She said, referring to their afternoon foray to her old home, just to be sure everything was ready for her parents' return. _If they want to return_, she thought nervously, not for the first time. Pushing aside her misgivings, she apparated with Ron to the alleyway down the street from her house. Smiling, he took her hand, and they walked up the street, feeling for a moment like just any other teenage couple going for a walk. She tried to think of a word to describe this, what the last several days had been like. _Wonderful_, certainly…but that didn't hit the main meaning.

_Excitement?_ Well, a bit, but not exactly.

_Contentment._ Closer, but still not quite.

_Normalcy_, she thought with a smile. This was _normalcy. _ Staying with Ron's family, eating meals together, in no hurry to be anywhere, helping Mrs. Weasley cook and clean, laughing with Harry and Ginny, kissing Ron every chance she got….

Hermione smiled to herself.

Her smile faded as they neared their destination. The last time she'd been here, her entire world had been in question—her foundation, her family, was gone, perhaps forever; she and Harry and Ron were about to embark on a journey that would likely end with one or more of their deaths; the world was on the brink of disaster; fear had reigned. She shivered, and Ron squeezed her hand reassuringly. She gave him a shaky smile, took a deep breath, and waved her wand to unlock the door.

She stopped cold as the door swung open, Ron pulling his wand faster than she had ever seen him do, instantly on guard.

The house was torn to pieces. Furniture was torn and overturned, she could see dishes shattered on the floor in the kitchen, scorch marks from curses crisscrossed the walls, light fixtures burst and glass everywhere. There was trash and dust and splintered wood all over the floor. Sunlight poured through several holes and collapsed parts of the ceiling, water damage from rain and snow evident in the walls. Clearly Hermione's own protective charms hadn't held up under the onslaught the Death Eaters had thrown at the house.

Hermione swallowed a cry as she cautiously stepped inside and uttered an enchantment to reveal hidden curses or jinxes. There weren't any; it looked fairly straightforward. The Death Eaters had come looking for her, as she knew they would, and left when it was clear no one was there. But not before destroying her childhood home, it seemed.

She felt weak in the knees and sat down against the mildewy wall, choking on a sob. Ron knelt beside her, still on alert, but gently rubbing her shoulder while she gave in to tears for a moment. How could they? This would take _weeks_ to put to rights! And she would need help, she didn't know the first thing about this kind of wand work…

There was nothing for it; Australia would have to wait. Hermione groaned at the thought; she absolutely despised the thought of putting it off any longer. She _missed_ her parents, so much it was a near-physical ache in her chest.

Ron's voice punched through the bleak thoughts chasing themselves around in her head; she'd missed what he said. "What?" she asked.

"We should go," he murmured. "Come back with help."

She nodded. "One thing, first," she said, standing shakily. She climbed the stairs carefully, Ron right behind her, and opened the door to the first room on the left.

A loud bang, and Ron pulled Hermione out of the way hard, just as a black powdery substance rolled out of the doorway where she'd just been standing. She had landed on top of Ron, who was on his rear, and he was scooting back with her in tow, as quickly as he could. She didn't know what the dust was, but judging by his reaction, it wasn't good.

"Don't let it touch you," he said, his voice tight. "As soon as it settles, I can use the counter-curse."

"What is it?" she asked.

"Bolivian Burn-dust," he replied. "If you'd been standing there and caught the full force of it, you'd have second and third degree burns over all your exposed skin. It's as good as a fireball….better, maybe, for inflicting damage, because it's harder to get off once it has landed on you."

Hermione shuddered. She stood slowly as Ron muttered the spell to remove the nasty stuff from the hallway carpet, and entered the room. Her room.

It was trashed, as the rest of the house had been, but she didn't bother to take in details. They would come back to fix it the next day, she'd get a better look than she wanted then. Instead, she walked straight to her closet door, moved some hangers aside, and murmured a spell over the back wall of the closet. A safe appeared, and she opened it carefully, breathing a sigh of relief when it was clear the Death Eaters had not seen it. She moved its entire contents—a collection of family photos she hadn't erased herself from, an album from Hogwarts, a few diaries, and a small velvet box—into a canvas bag she'd conjured, and turned to Ron.

"Let's get out of here."


	4. Chapter 4: Determination

_A/N: Hello, everyone! Soooo sorry about the wait on this chapter! My life kinda exploded in the last two weeks, but I'm still here and still writing! Thank you to all of you who reviewed, the feedback is always always welcome! This chapter finds Hermione dealing with what happened to her home, Ron hosting some niggling doubts, Mrs. Weasley shouting bad words, and a lot of general fluff. Enjoy!_

_**Determination**_

Molly Weasley was not a witch given to employing bad language; she saw it as a horrendous habit, improper and rude, and she hated it when her boys used it liberally. But Ron's account of what had happened to Hermione's home, while not entirely unexpected, brought forth a few choice curses that had the other members of her family staring outright.

She glared at them all. "What?! It's a situation deserving of the language."

Shaking his head, Ron turned back to Hermione, the only one who hadn't reacted to Mrs. Weasley's words. Hadn't really reacted to anything, actually, since he brought her back. He squeezed her shoulder, and she turned to him, trying to force a tiny smile. But it wasn't a real one, he could tell, and her eyes were empty and vacant, as if she wasn't really there. He looked to his mother, wordlessly begging for her help, and she seemed to understand; she walked over and enveloped Hermione in a hug. The girl started in surprise, tensed for a moment, but then her shoulders began to shake as sobs racked her slender frame. She hugged Molly back, hard, and the older woman smoothed her hair and murmured comfort into her ear, promising her everything would be all right. The others looked on awkwardly; displays of affection between Hermione and Mrs. Weasley were rather rare, but no one wanted to leave her.

Ron felt awful; he should have been able to comfort her. Why wasn't it his shoulder she was crying on, why not his arms where she found safety?

_What did I do wrong?_

A few moments later, Mrs. Weasley pulled back and held Hermione at arms' length. "What are you going to do, dear?"

Hermione breathed slowly for a moment, calming, before straightening her head and looking the woman in the eye. "I have to stay and fix it, of course. I'll need help though," here she turned to Mr. Weasley. "I don't know where to even start."

Molly shook her head. "And what of your parents?"

Hermione blinked back fresh tears, but continued, her voice unwavering, "They'll keep for a bit. I certainly can't bring them back to _that_."

Molly chuckled, "no, you can't. And you won't. Why don't you let a trained team take care of your home, and you and Ron go find your parents?"

Hermione stared outright. Have someone else fix her home? Without her there? It seemed…it was a crazy idea. It felt wrong, complete strangers putting her home in order, it would never do….

"That's not how it'd be, Hermione."

She looked up, locking eyes with Harry, who had seemed to read her mind. "What?"

He grinned a little, "You think I don't know what you're thinking? Strangers in your house, trying to put the pieces of your life back together? It'd bother me too. But let Ginny and I take care of it, and Ron's parents. We all know you, better than nearly anyone, and it wouldn't be nearly so invasive if it was us."

Hermione's eyes widened as she considered it. _It's possible…_

Ginny looked thrilled at the idea. "Yes!" she continued for Harry. "Oh, do let us help, Hermione, we both have been wanting to help you somehow, knowing how difficult this situation is for you, with your parents and all." She smiled at her best friend. "It's the least we can do."

Hermione felt a weight lift from her shoulders. _Yes. _Yes, this she could live with. She felt herself smiling, the dark cloud around her heart dissipating in the face of the love these people displayed for her.

"All right."

Mrs. Weasley smiled as Harry and Ginny cheered. "There's a good girl. Now both of you go get cleaned up for dinner." She pushed Hermione and Ron toward the door. "We have a great evening ahead."

Dinner was a cheery, loud affair, typical of the Weasley household. Toasts were made, jokes cracked, and more laughter heard than had been since the end of the war. Kingsley showed up, briefly, to share last-minute arrangements with Ron and Hermione and wish them the best of luck, giving them contact information for the Ministry in Sydney, and making them promise to send word when they arrived safely. Ron grinned; his mother and father both, on separate occasions, had cornered him and demanded the same thing, and he had no doubt Hermione had received similar charges from Ginny and Harry.

After a rich, huge dessert that Ron was certain would pop the buttons on his shirt, the family retired to different places in the house for the evening. George, looking very tired, hugged Ron and bade them both farewell and good luck before heading to bed. Bill challenged Ron to a game of Wizard's Chess, which he reluctantly let go of Hermione's hand for, and Harry and Ginny sat near the fire, watching the game and adding snarky commentary. It was all so….domestic, it made Hermione smile again. If not for the hole in her heart that her parents' absence generated, it would've been perfect.

_Very soon_, she thought_. It'll all be better soon._

That afternoon's events had truly shaken her; but not for the reasons she'd expected. It was just a house, after all. The house she'd grown up in, true, but still; a material possession. The things inside the house were of varying importance, but honestly, after surviving the war and losing _people _she loved, it was difficult to get really bent up over losing a lamp or even a roof. What had really upset her was the perceived necessity to postpone her trip.

Hermione was no stranger to being apart from her parents; she'd attended a boarding school for seven years and was used to extended absences from them. But even then, she'd written and received letters on a weekly basis at least, seen them over holidays, and most importantly, _known_ they were well. Currently, it'd been nearly a year since she'd seen or heard from them, and she had no idea where they were or how they were doing. Were they prosperous, happy? Did they have good friends? Did they know, somewhere in their hearts, she was missing? Did they feel her absence as a cold emptiness like she did, even if they couldn't really understand why?

Hermione found herself hoping so, despite how awful it felt to admit it to herself. She hoped they missed her, because it would prove that their love, like hers, transcended the logic that was held in such regard in her family. She shook off the dark thoughts, deciding to focus instead on what was good about this.

She was on her way to find them tomorrow.

She would set them right, and once they stopped being angry with her—she knew they would—everything would be right again.

Ron was coming with her.

Ron….she smiled. He had won at Wizard's Chess, and the smug grin on his face made her fall in love with him all over again. He met her eyes and did a double take at the desire written clearly in them, staring and causing her to blush and look away. He stood and stretched theatrically, spouting some nonsense about needing to be up early and going to bed. Hermione knew he wouldn't sleep, as she wouldn't, and considered sneaking up to his room later that night to prove it.

Ron winked as he passed her, and a jolt of electricity shot through her, settling as a slow burn in her center. She knew what he wanted, but she had no desire to be _that_ obvious about it, especially as Bill, Fleur, Harry, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley were all still in the room. Her immediate absence, so soon after his, would've raised every eyebrow in the room. So she settled down with a book, deciding to stay a bit.

The minutes passed excruciatingly slowly, as Hermione found herself unable to focus on one word in her book. Part of her brain—a rather large part, she noticed with some disgust at her own weakness—kept repeating that he was waiting for her, that they could be alone right now, why was she waiting, who cared what everyone thought?!

She pushed the voice aside, redoubling her efforts to read. "_His tireless efforts to please her were always met with cold indifference….tireless efforts to please….please her….efforts to please her….were…..cold indifference…..tireless efforts…." _

Hermione sighed, trying not to show her frustration to the room at large. _Fine,_ she gave in mentally. _I'm going, I'm going._ The large part of her brain currently shaming her cheered. She stood, smiling and wishing everyone a good night, before heading up the stairs. Instead of stopping on the second landing, she continued to the third, following the long hall that led to Ron's room. Timidly, she knocked, the previously impatient voice in her head now insecure—perhaps he _was _sleeping, after all. How desperate would she look, coming to him before the nightmares even started? What would he-

Her thoughts were shattered as he opened the door, wearing only his boxers. She took in a sharp breath, unprepared for the desire that swamped her at the sight of his bare chest. He smiled.

"Hey, 'Mione."

Before she quite knew what she was doing, Hermione had surged forward, leaving her book forgotten on the floor in the hall. She threw her arms round his neck and yanked his head down to fuse their lips together. Ron responded almost immediately, slamming the door shut and pushing her against it. He pressed himself against her, growling when she mewled in pleasure. She melted against him, exploring the planes of his bare back with her hands and allowing him to claim her mouth possessively. She gasped his name when his lips left hers to trail blazing paths down and across her neck, banging her head on the door as she tossed it back, digging her nails into his skin. He pulled her close, moving them away from the wall and toward the bed. She didn't resist, but he stopped halfway there.

"Hermione," he began, and she could see the effort to control himself in his eyes. "Hermione, we need to stop if you—"

He never finished, her lips crashed into his to shut him up. Pulling back, breathing hard, she practically purred,

"Ron, don't you dare stop. I need all of you tonight."


	5. Chapter 5: Discovery

_A/N: LEMON. LOTS OF LEMON. You've been warned. This is a shamelessly smutty chapter. ;)_

_**Discovery**_

_Before she quite knew what she was doing, Hermione had surged forward, leaving her book forgotten on the floor in the hall. She threw her arms round his neck and yanked his head down to fuse their lips together. Ron responded almost immediately, slamming the door shut and pushing her against it. He pressed himself against her, growling when she mewled in pleasure. She melted against him, exploring the planes of his bare back with her hands and allowing him to claim her mouth possessively. She gasped his name when his lips left hers to trail blazing paths down and across her neck, banging her head on the door as she tossed it back, digging her nails into his skin. He pulled her close, moving them away from the wall and toward the bed. She didn't resist, but he stopped halfway there._

_"Hermione," he began, and she could see the effort to control himself in his eyes. "Hermione, we need to stop if you—"_

_He never finished, her lips crashed into his to shut him up. Pulling back, breathing hard, she practically purred,_

_"Ron, don't you dare stop. I need all of you tonight."_

Her words nearly undid him right there. God, he wanted her so badly. He'd been aching for her ever since he saw her staring at him downstairs, wondered if she realized how obvious the desire in her eyes was. He knew she needed to be held, after all that had happened this afternoon, and had expected the nightmares to be worse tonight, expected her to climb into his bed later, but this….

He had not expected _this._

He had no idea how to resist it; he did try, for a moment, but when she asked for all of him…he couldn't deny her. He broke away from Hermione just long enough to toss a couple of charms at the door, ensuring they wouldn't be interrupted. She gave him a wicked grin and began to walk backwards, pulling him by the hands until her knees hit the bed. She lay back against the pillows, giving him a look he'd never seen on her face. It was bold, determined, aroused, hopeful.

_Inviting._

_**Seductive.**_

A shiver raced down his spine, from the nape of his neck to his lower back and then spread throughout his midsection until it settled as a warm knot in his core. With a primal growl, he settled himself over her, pressing his tented boxers against her heated center. Hermione gasped, jerking against him at the new sensation, and wrapped her arms around him tightly as she bit his lip, silently begging him to kiss her. Again, he did not deny her, probing her warm sweet mouth with his tongue and letting out a moan at the feel of her beneath him. How many times had he fantasized about exactly this?

_How many times had she fantasized about exactly this?_

His comforting weight atop her, his lips claiming hers passionately, his hands exploring her sides and chest, the pressure and the heat and the ecstasy and the taste of Ron everywhere….

Hermione shivered and forced herself to slow down a little, enjoy this and not allow her hormones to drive her to rush through it. She knew this was what she wanted; she'd waited for this night for years, Merlin knew, and she intended to savor it. Dropping her head back onto the pillows, she looked Ron in the eye; stroking his cheek and marveling at his rapid breathing, his hardness against the crux of her, his trembling hands. She nuzzled his jaw, breathing the scent of him in and letting it fill her.

"I love you so much."

He kissed her forehead, looking down at her with dark, passionate eyes.

"I love you too, Hermione. Merlin, I love you so much it hurts."

She rolled her hips, garnering a gasp from him and a purr from her, before her reason caught up and she asked him, nervously, "Ron, is this all right? I kinda just jumped you, and didn't even ask…"

He nibbled her earlobe, "I am more than okay, as long as you are."

Hermione tilted her head, giving him better access to the sensitive skin of her neck and jaw, breathing one word in response.

"Yes."

They didn't hesitate after that. His hands worked her shirt up and off, making quick work of her bra and causing him to smile at her blush when he saw her for the first time. He whispered she was beautiful, kissing and caressing places no one had ever touched. Their undergarments met a similar fate shortly after, his member probing and pressing against her secret place, every move a continuation of a level of ecstasy neither of them were familiar with. It was fumbling and awkward when he pressed into her the first time, and more than a little painful. Tears stung Hermione's eyes as her body slowly grew accustomed to the welcome intrusion; she never could say whether they were tears of joy or pain. Regardless, Ron kissed them away and stilled, waiting for her signal to continue. Seconds later, with a sigh of contentment, she gave it.

They both lasted mere moments; Ron refusing to give in until she jolted beneath him, tightening around him with a cry. The added pressure threw him over the edge, and he shivered and came with a grunt, gasping for air. When he came to himself, he tried to roll off her, but Hermione wouldn't have it. She pulled him tight against her, their centers still joined, and breathed love and gentle kisses across his neck and shoulders. Ron groaned in satisfaction, smiling against her skin.

After what seemed like ages, the lovers settled next to each other, Ron's arms wrapped protectively around Hermione as she spooned against him, her back to his chest. He squeezed a bit, laying a kiss on her exposed neck, and she purred in contentment.

A sudden remembrance came to him, a memory from earlier in the day. He wasn't sure he should ask, especially right this instant, but…it was going to bother him…

"Hermione?"

She mumbled sleepily. "mmm?"

"Earlier today, after we went to your house. You held back from me, withdrew. You cried in my mother's arms, and I couldn't help but wonder; why not mine?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow sharply. "You're jealous because I let your mom hold me?"

_Uh oh._ "Not exactly jealous, no." His ears turned pink. "Just wondering if I did something wrong."

Her eyes softened, and she interlaced their fingers, turning to face him. "Of course not, Ronald. You did nothing wrong. I just needed…" she struggled to explain. "I needed a mother. And since mine is…indisposed…" a shiver, "and yours was right there…she's been so wonderful to me, Ron, you don't even know what it has meant. I love her like my own mom, and I was so afraid and shaken…sometimes a girl just needs a mom. It had nothing to do with you." She stroked his cheek, willing him to understand. She was rewarded with a smile, and a kiss on the nose. "Oh. I just wasn't sure."

Hermione snuggled into his chest. "I promise, if you'd done something wrong, you'd know about it."

He chuckled, settling down with her in his arms, "somehow I'm not surprised."

Outside in the hall, a lone figure sighed as he tried the door yet again. Grumbling, he started down toward the second landing bedroom, thinking maybe a snogging session of his own might be in order.


	6. Chapter 6: Interference

_**Interference**_

_Long had he searched. His mission, given him by the Dark Lord Himself, had taken far more time and effort than it ought to have; and yet here he stood, on the cusp of victory. He knew the score; the Dark Lord had fallen, much to his bitter despair…but his mission was not over. No, instead it was renewed. The reasoning was perhaps a little different, but the goal? The goal was the same. _

_He allowed himself a small grin—he could feel excitement pumping through his veins. He was about to win! A small victory, perhaps insignificant in the grand scheme of things: the war was over, after all. _

_But to the filthy mudblood who'd led him on this chase, it would be a devastating blow._

_Rumor had it she was headed this way, to track down the clueless muggles he was currently watching from the shadows. The dark-haired woman laughed at something the tall man said, looping her arm through his as they walked down the street. He would need to follow them home; no need to make a scene and allow the Granger bitch to be alerted something was wrong. He nearly clapped his hands with glee, imagining her face when she walked in and found them dead and cold in their living room. White, bloated corpses, clearly tortured, lying in pools of their own dried brown blood. Perhaps he could even—_

_He stopped as the idea formed._

_It was __**brilliant**__. _

_No. It was risky. This little cunt was one of the three that had defeated the Dark Lord. He reasoned she probably wouldn't travel alone. She was dangerous to him, especially surrounded…_

_Chances were, of course, she'd want time away from her guards to be with her parents. He could strike then. Perhaps even take out a few guards while he was at it. _

_Yes._

_This could work. Get her alone with her parents, disarm and incapacitate her—but not kill, not at first—and have her watch. His lips curled in an evil pantomime of a smile. After that, she would __**beg**__ for death._

_And he would oblige, happily, once he was done with her. _

_He was the Dark Lord's most trusted hunter, a powerful and merciless wizard, brutal and cunning. And he alone would take his revenge on the disgusting muggle-born; and through her, Potter himself, for the defeat of the Dark Master he had so joyfully served._

_He licked his lips._

_Victory was sweet._


	7. Chapter 7: Hope

_**Hope**_

Ron woke to gentle but insistent shaking early the next morning. "Ron! Ron, wake up." someone whispered, and he groaned and turned over.

"Five more minutes…."

The hand poked him in the side and shook him harder, hissing his name for a few minutes. He ignored it. It stopped, and Ron silently congratulated himself on defeating the fiend trying to drag him from his comfortable sleep…he'd been having a fantastic dream involving Hermione and nakedness…

Suddenly, someone's lips were beside his ear, murmuring in a raspy morning voice,

"Ron, you need to wake up so you can kiss me properly."

The hands that had been shaking him were now instead exploring his chest, rubbing light circles. They moved down to his abs and he moaned, taut muscles fluttering at the sensation. Emboldened by his response, the fingers caressed the hair below his belly button, and….lower. Ron's eyes shot open before they reached his morning problem, and he sat bolt upright, chest heaving. He looked around wildly, his gaze settling on a sight he'd only ever seen in his fantasies:

A _very_ naked Hermione reclined on his bed, a wicked smile on her beautiful face.

Hermione Granger. Naked. In his bed.

"Bloody….fucking….hell," he whispered.

"Now, now, Ronald," she winked at him. "I can think of much better employment for that handsome mouth than cursing."

Ron didn't need telling twice. He crawled over her, pressing his lips lightly to hers and pushing his tongue against them, begging entrance. She opened eagerly, and their tongues danced as he lowered his hips to hers. She moaned and rolled her hips, causing him to gasp and thrust instinctively closer. Hermione shuddered beneath him, murmuring in his ear, "Please Ron, I need you…I love you…please don't hold back."

He sighed as they joined, choking on his own emotion as he told her fiercely that he loved her, wrapping her legs around his waist and caressing her naked torso. She tightened around him in response; he gasped again as instinct took over and he pressed harder and faster into her. She seemed to love it, throwing her head back against the pillows and mewling, fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. It didn't take long at all for them both to be seeing stars, and Ron rolled off her, sated and content. Hermione nuzzled his neck as he held her, little aftershocks of her own climax shivering through her slender frame.

Eventually, she sighed. "Ron, we do have to get up. We're going to Australia today."

She pulled back, and he looked her in the eyes, noting the fear in them she was attempting to hide. "'Mione?" he inquired softly. "What is it, love?"

She whispered her most secret fear. "What if they don't want me back?" Mistaking Ron's shock for misunderstanding, she hurriedly tried to explain. "I changed their whole lives, Ron. Made them forget they had a daughter they loved. Sent them halfway across the world to start a new life. They're my parents, they would have protected me to their last breath—and I never gave them the chance. I stole from them a huge part of who they were, as if I had the right." She looked at him tearfully. "They're going to hate me."

Ron's arms tightened around her, and he pulled her close, letting her cry and kissing her hair. After a moment, he drew her up to sit with him, tracing his finger along her jaw line and tilting her chin up so she would look at him. _Come on, Weasley,_ he thought. _Give her what she needs_. "Hermione," he stated in a tone that left no room for doubt. "You did what you had to do to protect your parents. They had no chance against what was coming; you saw the house! What do you think those Death Eaters would've done to _them_?" She blinked, shivering, as he continued. "They might be angry with you, love, but there is no way they'll hate you. Trust me; this time tomorrow, you're going to be completely out of your mind with happiness, because for you, the war will finally be _over_."

Hermione couldn't help but believe him. She saw the truth of his words in his eyes, saw the absolute love reflected there, and tears stung her own eyes again as the enormity of it all hit her; both the fact that this war she had fought alongside Ron and Harry was finally won, and the level of devotion Ron's eyes were displaying. It was all so overwhelming, and she leaned her head against his chest and just let it consume her for a minute.

Finally, she took a deep breath, pulled back, and smiled—a real, joyful smile.

"Let's go."

An hour later, she and Ron stood just beyond the Weasley's property line, holding an old glass bottle, shaking hands and saying goodbye to Ron's parents, Harry, and Ginny.

"You'll be safe, dears?"

"Owl us when you arrive safely, won't you?"

"Don't worry about a thing, Hermione, we'll have your house back in top shape in a day or two."

"Ron."

The last was Harry, directed at his very best friend, his brother, the man who'd been by his side for going on eight years now. Ron gave Harry his full attention, and smiled when he pulled him into a hug. As they pulled back, Harry murmured so only he could hear, "Don't let anything happen to her, mate." He squeezed Harry's shoulder in response, and they stepped back as the bottle began to glow. They both waved a final time before Ron felt the familiar tug at his belly button, and he was squeezed through space for a long, breathless minute before he felt firm ground beneath his feet again. He stumbled at the landing, cursing under his breath.

The next couple hours were similar—land, find the next portkey, be squeezed and yanked to the next location, land, find the next portkey….

He supposed the benefit was he was getting much better at landing.

They had stops in Bordeaux, France; Naples, Italy; Larissa, Greece; two stops in Turkey (Usak and Urfa); Tehran, Iran; Quetta, Pakistan (where Ron wondered just how much more of this jerking his stomach could actually take); Jaipur, India; Dhaka, Bangladesh. In Bangladesh, they had a half hour layover, which was used to catch their breath and calm their bellies, while an old, silver haired wizard stood silently by, doubtless from their Ministry, making sure they didn't go anywhere they shouldn't and miss the next portkey. As soon as the silver figurine glowed, they were transported to Yangon, Burma; then Phnom Penh, Cambodia; Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia; Makassar, Indonesia; and their first stop in Australia was at Darwin, a port town on the northern tip of the continent. The final portkey (a copper pot) took them to Brisbane, where they were met by a stodgy old witch who took their names, checked their wands, and led them to the Australian Ministry of Magic building.

It mimicked the Ministry in London—a long hall with floo fireplaces and portkey sites, leading to a central lobby, lavishly decorated, with a painting of the current Minister of Magic (one Lachlan Thomas). There were, of course, differences; the Ministry here was bewitched to look like an old warehouse on the edge of town. Being above ground, it had the added benefit of windows and sunlight, which made it much less forbidding than the London Ministry. The colors were lighter, too, favoring toward off-white marble rather than shiny black tile. The centerpiece of the central lobby was a fountain; a statue of a roaring lion at the center. The water, Hermione noted, would change color and direction at random times, creating the illusion it was alive and dancing around the lion. It was a lovely piece of art, Hermione thought as they walked past it, and Ron squeezed her hand.

The witch leading them seemed rather standoffish, but she was one of the few. Nearly everyone they passed gave them a smile and a "g'day", including most who didn't recognize Ron and Hermione. A few did, and their reactions ranged from a wide smile, to complete shock, which made Hermione giggle.

Finally they were escorted into a wide, open office, where a middle-aged wizard sat at a mahogany desk. He looked up and smiled as they entered, and the stodgy witch handed him their wands and left with a curt nod.

"Please," he motioned to the leather chairs in front of his desk. "Won't you sit down?"

They did, and he handed them their wands back. "These were only taken for security precautions and identification purposes. You may have them back. Now," he rubbed his hands together, "first things first. I am Tristan Harris, Director of International Affairs here at the Ministry. You may call me Tristan, please don't stand on ceremony here. I understand you're here to look for your parents, Miss Granger?"

Hermione smiled, "Yes, sir. I have a list of dentists by the name of Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and I wondered if perhaps you'd have any extra information we can use to find them. There are only thirteen Dr. Wilkins' in Australia that are dentists, and only four of those are husband/wife partnerships. I think that's the best place to start."

The older man nodded, listening carefully. "Where are the four partnerships located?" he asked.

"Two are in Perth, one in Adelaide, and one here in Brisbane," she answered.

Tristan thought carefully, then spoke. "It makes sense to check the one here first. If that doesn't pan out, you can easily apparate to Adelaide and check that one. From Adelaide you can apparate to Perth. Does that sound agreeable?"

Hermione was nodding eagerly, and Ron, not seeing any logical reason it wouldn't work, agreed too.

Tristan clapped his hands. "Excellent. Well then. You may apparate from the main hall at port 7, here's a picture of where you want to go in Adelaide. Once you get there, the wizard at the information booth will tell you how to get around town. Ah, one last thing. Would you like us to send any messages for you before you leave?"

Ron nodded. "One to our Minister of Magic would be wonderful, thanks, and one to my parents."

They wrote their notes, gave them to Tristan, and headed back to the main hall.

_The wizards in this cursed town were buzzing with excitement. Word had it that Hermione Granger would be arriving this very day, or the next, to search for her family. The rumors were also that she was travelling only with one companion—a redhead. His lips turned up in a vicious grin. Weasley. Both the best friends of Potter were here. Just the two of them. And a pair of useless muggle parents._

_Oh, Rabastan Lestrange thought. Oh, __**this **__was going to be fun._

**A/N: So there ya have it! They're finally in Australia. And Rabastan…so I did some research to make sure this could be canon, and it totally can. Just for those who don't know—Rabastan Lestrange is/was Bellatrix's brother-in-law. He, his brother Rudolphus, and Bellatrix were Voldemort's most loyal supporters for both wars. Rabastan was present at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries in Harry's fifth year, then sent back to Azkaban. He escaped a second time, when the dementors defected to Voldemort, and was presumed to have fought in the Battle of Hogwarts—but no one knows for sure. So for the purposes of this story, Voldemort sent him to hunt for Hermione's parents, near the beginning of what would've been Harry's seventh year, once the Death Eaters discovered they weren't at her home. It took him over a year to find them, and by the time he did, Voldemort had been defeated and Bellatrix killed. At this point, Rabastan is interested basically in revenge—and Lestranges are creepily evil and brutal when it comes to retaliation. **

**Thanks for reading, don't forget to review!**


	8. Chapter 8: Recollection

_**Chapter 8: Recollection**_

_A/N: __**Sorry sorry sorry**__ about the wait on this! My muse disappeared for a good while, and I just couldn't get this one out. Luckily, she's back, and I'm sincerely hoping she'll stick around for a bit. Enjoy the chapter!_

Hermione's eyes widened as Monica Wilkins came around the corner, red-faced and breathing heavily. She was a stout woman with pale blue eyes and light skin, blotchy with agitation. She looked around wildly, her gaze sliding past Hermione and Ron to land on the receptionist who'd called her to the front, claiming her daughter had come to visit.

"Martha, where is she?" Monica cried. "Where's my Lisa?"

The receptionist jerked her purple-haired head in Hermione's direction, confused. Wouldn't the woman recognize her own daughter?

Hermione's eyes widened; this wasn't her mum, and now she had to extricate herself. "I'm sorry," she began. "I think I have the wrong—"

"Is this your idea of a joke?!" the woman screeched, her face rapidly reddening. "My baby girl, gone for ten years over some stupid fight, and you think it's funny to pretend you're HER? Get my hopes up, only to be crashed a moment later—"

Ron moved instinctively closer to Hermione while the woman continued to rant. Hermione let her go on for a minute or so, holding her hands out in a gesture of surrender and calm, speaking quietly to the livid woman before her. Finally, she set her face, determined to say her piece. "I'm sorry," she stated firmly, the woman finally quieting to listen to her. "My mother's name is Monica Wilkins too. I clearly got the wrong Monica, that is all. It was an honest mistake." Her face relaxed into a compassionate expression. "I really am sorry about your daughter. Her name is Lisa?" Monica's eyes filled with unshed tears as she nodded. Hermione stepped forward and grasped the broken mother's pudgy hands. "I'm sure she'll come back to you," she murmured softly, ignoring the stares of the patrons in the waiting room of the small family dentistry office. She squeezed Monica's hands. "She will. She loves you. She just needs to remember it."

Hermione and Ron left the office five minutes later, after Monica dried her tears and even gave them a small smile, wishing them luck on their search. Ron let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Well. That was…interesting."

Hermione laughed.

They walked back to the Ministry, enjoying the sweet morning air. Ron traced his thumb on the sensitive skin of Hermione's hand, making her shiver and bringing to mind his discovery of that spot last night in their hotel room. They had just finished making love for the second time that day; neither one was really tired, as they had lost nine hours on the trip to Brisbane, making them feel as if it were only around lunchtime rather than late evening. Hermione was lying in Ron's arms, her back to his chest, legs entangled. He had begun stroking her arm softly, moving slowly to her hand. When his fingers had brushed the skin around the knuckle of her thumb, Hermione had gasped and shivered. As startled as he was, she had turned to face him, staring into his eyes and whispering, "do it again?" Ron had obliged, and there it was again—that lightning bolt of pleasure up her arm and all down her spine. Ron grinned wickedly.

"Hermione Granger. I think I just found one of your erogenous zones."

Then he had proceeded to bring her hand to his lips and kiss the spot gently. Hermione's eyes had fluttered closed, a low moan rumbling through her chest, heart beginning to pound again. The next time they joined, a little while later, Ron had focused on caressing, kissing, nuzzling her thumbs and palms; and she'd finished, loudly, with the most satisfying orgasm she'd yet had.

So when he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it as they walked, she barely suppressed a groan and didn't bother trying not to shiver in pleasure. He smiled, obviously thrilled at being able to garner that sort of reaction from her. She smiled back, letting him know that it was more than okay—after all, she was discovering some ways to make him react, as well, so she supposed it was only fair.

When they reached their destination—Gate 7 in the Main Hall of the Australian Ministry—Hermione dug out the photo Tristan had given them the day before, of their landing spot in Adelaide. "Ready?" she asked Ron, smiling in spite of the nerves that had suddenly taken hold again at the prospect of finding her parents. They were so _close_. Ron nodded, squeezing her hand. Together, they turned, and with a _pop!_ were gone.

Wendell Wilkins put down his pen and stretched a bit. His eyes sought his wife briefly before he determined she must be with a patient. Standing, he decided to take a stroll across the street; the little tea shop there had excellent buns, and he was a bit hungry. He told the receptionist where he'd be, in case anyone asked (though his next appointment wasn't until after lunch), and walked out, whistling. The sun was shining and the day was delightfully warm—just so much that it wasn't uncomfortable, even with the constant humidity. He walked up to the counter and ordered his bun, taking a look around as he waited. The shop was quaint, and homey, decorated for comfort more than modern taste—which suited him just fine. He rather liked the overstuffed armchairs, paper flyers for local bands and events, and mismatched mugs and teacups.

A man came up next to him, waiting to order something as well. He was clean cut and shaved, gray eyes and strong features. He looked almost royal, and may have been nice-looking if not for the slight glint of something in his eyes that made Wendell squirm. Still, he forced a smile for the man, giving a cursory nod of greeting. The man returned him a smile that looked as if he hadn't used it in years; in fact, it was almost a sneer more than an actual smile. Luckily for Wendell, his bun was up just then, and he had an excuse to brush past the man and head for the door. As he did, he felt the oddest jolt, as if he'd been shocked by a tiny lightning bolt. He stood still for a moment, wondering…but it seemed to have passed, whatever it was.

_Odd_, he thought, and headed back to the office.

The receptionist's wide eyes met him as he walked in the door, and she stood so quickly she nearly knocked her chair over. Wendell's eyebrow cocked; what was this all about? He'd been gone for maybe ten minutes…

"Your wife needs you," the young woman stated.

He hurried back to the exam room she had indicated and opened the door. His eyes found his wife first, gasping for breath, tears in her eyes as she trembled in the chair. Wendell's gaze shifted to glare at whatever threat had her reacting this way, only to land on two teenagers standing a few feet away. The boy had flaming red hair and freckles, and stood close to the girl in what Wendell recognized as a protective posture. The girl was—_wait_. He blinked. She was the spitting image of his wife, only younger…bushy brown hair and hazel eyes, a delicate mouth and shapely nose, slender hands, and…what was that she was holding?

The girl had turned to him and was pointing a slim stick at him, like a…a…_wand_?

Why would he think of a wand?

The last thing he heard before the spell hit him was his wife's tearful gasp:

"Hermione!"

And then he was floating, twisting amidst a storm of conflicting memories, unsure which were real:

_Monica walking down a church isle, white dress and veil, holding a bouquet of roses while music plays softly in the background…_

_Laughing on a walk, holding his wife's hand…_

_The grand opening of their first dentistry practice in London….no, Adelaide….London?..._

_Sarah's pained cry as he rushes her to a hospital, clearly in labor….wait…._

_He and Monica didn't have kids…_

_No. Sarah, not Monica. He hears her shout his name, clearly…_

"_David!"_

_Suddenly, a slew of memories break forth, both familiar and frighteningly new. A baby girl in his arms, his wife smiling as they name her…._

_**Hermione.**_

_His daughter._

_A curly-haired toddler squealing with joy as he makes faces at her, a little five-year-old girl snuggled against his side as he reads her a story…_

_Teaching Hermione to ride a bicycle…to read…watching Sarah teach her to cook…marveling at how she always is so eager to learn, regardless of the subject…._

_A letter on heavy parchment, from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…._

_Reading Hermione's letters, her best friends….Ron and Harry…._

_Oh my god. _

"Hermione!"

Suddenly, his wife and daughter were both in his arms, sobbing their relief. David just held them. His daughter. _Hermione_. How could he have forgotten!? Had they been under some sort of spell? They must have been, how else could he have forgotten his little girl?

He pulled back after several minutes to look at her. God, she was lovely—a nearly grown woman, now. Her face was thinner than last he'd seen her, her features more prominent, her eyes full of joy—but they were older eyes than rightfully belonged in the face of a seventeen-year-old.

Something had happened. Something bad.

"Hermione," he murmured, noting how she smiled when he said her name. His gaze flicked to his wife, who looked as simultaneously lost and relieved as he did. "Sweetheart, tell us what's going on. We're very confused right now."

She looked slightly abashed, and nodded. "All right, but…we should go home…well, to your place. This is going to be a very emotional conversation." He saw her glance at the boy—who he now recognized as Ron Weasley—no small measure of fear in her gaze. He nodded encouragingly, and she nodded back. David's heart skipped a beat as he realized—he had a rival for his little girl's heart, and it looked as though he was losing.

He squeezed her to him as they turned to walk out. He knew someday she'd find someone, and he was glad of it—and Ron was about as decent of a bloke as he could hope for, he knew—but a selfish part of him wanted to keep Hermione close. At least right this moment, when everything felt so…unstable and confusing.

He wondered what sort of wild explanation could possibly be coming. He knew—well, strongly suspected—it had to do with that evil wizard Hermione always seemed to be having too-close-for-comfort encounters with. What was his name? Volduh-something. Didn't matter, in David's book. The man better not have harmed her in any way. Wizard or not, he was still Hermione's father. He scowled.

Dirty bastard, trying to harm his daughter because of her bloodline.

He opened and held the door for Hermione and Sarah when they arrived, nodding once to Ron as he followed them in. Looking at the house, unsure how he felt about it now, David shrugged and went in too, closing the door behind him.

He barely had time to register Hermione's squeal of shock before a jet of blood-red light struck him in the chest and the world went black.


	9. Chapter 9: Warcraft

Chapter 9: Warcraft

_A/N: Decided not to make y'all wait for this one. Quick warning though; this is a pretty violent chapter. Like, M rated for violence. If that sort of thing bothers you, please don't read it. If you like, I can send a summary to you via PM without all the gory details. _

Hermione was furious.

She struggled uselessly against her bonds; the man had taken her wand straightaway, right after stunning her parents and Ron, and she had no way of getting out of this. _Bloody fucking hell_, she thought. How had she let this happen? It was true she was not a witch to be trifled with; and teamed up with Ron, she was very nearly unstoppable—his instinct and her brain were a pretty lethal combination for an enemy. They were even more dangerous with Harry. But even the greatest wizard could be taken by surprise, and they had been. She cursed again; Kingsley, Harry, and the Weasleys had all warned her, told her it was still dangerous out here. Why had she let her guard down?

She shook her head; no time for this now. She'd berate herself later. For now, she needed to reach it. Her fingers began slowly working at her back pocket. The wizard who'd captured them had finished binding his captives and had lined them up on the floor in front of where she was standing, the ropes unnecessarily tight around her hands and feet; more around her neck, chest, hips, and thighs, binding her to the wall. He turned to her with a sneer, and she finally got a good look at his face. She gasped.

He looked like _Bellatrix._

Gray eyes, high cheekbones, black hair, haughty demeanor. He even had the same evil smile.

_This man was a Lestrange. _There was no doubt in Hermione's mind, and the knowledge made her chest tighten in panic. She'd been prisoner to a Lestrange once before, and she was still fighting to overcome the trauma of that experience.

She wasn't eager to repeat it. She redoubled her efforts, trying not to let him see her fingers working furiously at her pocket.

"Hello, Mudblood." he spat the cruel name. She winced; not at the word itself, but at the brutal hatred in his voice. He laughed at her obvious fear. "Did you honestly think we would all just disappear?"

Hermione glared at him. "No," she stated flatly. "I didn't actually think that for one second." _Can't…reach….it's too deep in the pocket, too tight against the wall!_

"Good," he growled, putting his face inches from hers and leering. "You know, for a mudblood, you sure are a pretty little thing." He toyed with the hem of her shirt, and Hermione froze, her eyes widening.

_Don't panic, don't panic…._

She squirmed under his intense glare, letting him think he'd gotten to her. Really, the wriggling was shifting it in her pocket; she felt the jagged edge against her fingers_. Finally._

He was moving closer though, and it was making her really uncomfortable. She didn't like the look in his eyes one bit. Finally he stopped, centimeters from her face, teeth bared in a nasty smile, eyeing her like a piece of meat. "Don't think for one second I'm going to kill you straight off, little girl. This is going to hurt, and in more ways than one."

And he pressed his lips to hers harshly, taking advantage of her gasp of horror to shove his tongue in her mouth. She panicked; plan forgotten, logic shattered, all she could think of was getting him off her. She screeched her indignation into his mouth, then bit down hard on the invasive tongue working its way around, working deeper, stealing her breath. He roared in pain, and she tasted blood_. Disgusting_.

She spat as he pulled away, but didn't have long to process before the back of his hand met her face with a blinding slap. Hermione gasped at the pain, shuddering as she tried to focus again. _Fingers. Back pocket. Glass. I've got it,_ she thought, moving her hand just enough to pull it out. _Now for the name._

"It's Harry, isn't it?" she did her best to meet his eyes, though half her head was on fire, temple to jaw. She upped the volume, just in case, pretending to be panicked. "This is because of what Harry did! Harry! It's always Harry! Harry killed Voldemort, and now I'm here, tied to a wall and completely at your mercy, Harry dragged us along on a bloody year-long mission last year, on the run, hunting things no one should have to face, it's always Harry…Harry, Harry, Harry!"

Lestrange looked a little surprised at her outburst, but only for a moment. He glared. "Hardly, mudblood. You're here because you're disgusting and worthless and should've been killed long ago. I'm just doing the job now instead. You AND your boyfriend the blood-traitor; you make me sick. And while I'm at it, I'll just eliminate your muggle parents, too, so they can't produce any more filth." He turned to Ron. "But I do intend to enjoy this. _Ennervate._"

Ron started, coming back to consciousness with a yell. "Hermione! Look— oh, fuck." It took him only a moment to determine his own situation, and his eyes found her, bound and helpless, bright red mark on one side of her face. His eyes narrowed at their captor. "A Lestrange," he growled. "Rabastan, if memory serves. You were the only one of your family not accounted for after Hogwarts." He managed a sneer of his own. "Here to avenge your baby sister? Too bad my mother made sure there was nothing left of her."

Rabastan roared his fury and hit Ron with a Cruciatus Curse the likes of which Hermione hadn't seen ever before, even in Malfoy Manor with Bellatrix. Ron couldn't even scream; he seized, twitched, his face contorted in complete agony, and then went limp as he lost consciousness. Rabastan's fury was not nearly sated by just that: he woke Ron and then turned his wand on Hermione, nearly screaming the curse.

Hermione screamed as every cell in her body exploded in agony. Sheer, complete torture. There was nothing but blinding pain, no color but red and black; no past, no future, only the anguished present. Seconds lasted millennia.

She blacked out.

* * *

Harry woke from a deep sleep with a start. He couldn't be sure whether he'd heard his name called in his dreams, or if it had been someone actually calling for him. He looked at the bedside clock; 2:34 am. Groaning, he fell back against the pillows. He hadn't slept well either of the past two nights, worry for his friends keeping his mind busy. It was probably unnecessary worry, what with the war being over; but it was going to take a while for him to truly feel safe after being in danger most of his formative years. He sighed. He was itching to activate the dormant tracking spells on his friends, or at least contact Hermione through Sirius' mirror (Aberforth had given him the rest of the mirror after the Battle, and Harry had given the smaller piece to Hermione before she left, begging her to keep it on her person in case something bad happened).

"This is because of what Harry did! Harry!"

He was sure he'd heard it this time. He scrambled off the bed and pulled the mirror out of his knapsack hurriedly. He couldn't see anything through it except darkness, but he could clearly hear Hermione ranting angrily.

"Harry killed Voldemort, and now I'm here, tied to a wall and completely at your mercy, Harry dragged us along on a bloody year-long mission last year….."

Harry shot out of bed, running down the hall to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room, shouting for everyone to wake up. "….hunting things no one should have to face, it's always Harry…Harry, Harry, Harry!"

The last repetition of his name was nearly a scream, and Harry felt panic settle tight in his chest. Mr. Weasley wrenched open the door he'd been banging on, looking confused and sleepy. Harry looked at him with wide eyes.

"Something's gone wrong. Ron and Hermione need help."

The effect of his words was instantaneous. After a couple quick questions and a few more moments of listening in the mirror—just until they heard Ron say Rabastan's name—the Weasleys jumped into action. Mr. Weasley spoke in short, clipped tones to Mrs. Weasley, and the siblings who'd gathered at all the noise. "Molly, get us ready to leave. Charlie, get word to your contacts in Romania—we will probably need help. George, floo to Bill's and bring him. Also get Percy. Ginny, help your mother. Harry, activate the tracking spells and see if any of your friends who fought in the Battle are available to leave. I'm going to contact Kingsley." Everyone scattered to do as he asked. Ginny squeezed Harry's hand and ran after her mother.

Harry stumbled back to Ron's room, threw on some clothes, and pulled out the note Hermione had left him with the tracking spells. "Revelio noti," he murmured, waving his wand. The magic tingled through him as Ron and Hermione's dots appeared on the accompanying map. _Adelaide._

Harry ran.

He was shocked how quickly people had shown up. It'd only taken a few calls and about twenty minutes before word got round, and now the sitting room at the Burrow was packed with people. The family was there, of course, along with Bill and Fleur, Percy's girlfriend Audrey, Luna, Neville, Parvati and Padma, Dean, Seamus, Lavender Brown, Professor McGonogall, and Kingsley himself. Harry felt a mirthless grin cross his face.

Rabastan didn't stand a chance.

He only hoped Hermione and Ron could hang on until they got to them.


	10. Chapter 10: Will

_**Ch. 10—Will **_

_A/N: Bit more of a wait on this than I hoped; this chapter just would __**not **__cooperate! I really hope it is of the quality you all deserve, I had to bang it out; blood, sweat, and tears and the whole thing. Enjoy!_

Ron was floating. It was a rather pleasant sensation, he thought dully, after hours of the Cruciatus Curse, to just….be. He felt a bit drowsy, compliant and satisfied. The man in front of him—who was he?—looked rather cruel, honestly, but Ron really couldn't bring himself to care enough to try and figure out why. He was so tired, his nerves still firing random signals of pain as muscles spasmed—the aftereffects of the curse, no doubt—and he was just too damn content. He hadn't felt this good since….he woke up with Hermione that morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago now…

His mind vaguely focused on Hermione, his eyes sought her out lazily. She was against the wall….ropes? Why was she tied up? Something niggled at the back of his mind—a distant sense of danger and fear. It didn't seem to make it to the forefront, though, just faded away as Ron allowed his gaze to wander. A loveseat—it was a nice color, kind of light red—a table lamp, carpet, a couple people lying next to him—were they tired and content too? Naw, they looked asleep, actually. Sleep. Maybe that's what he should do. Hermione could take care of those ropes, she was a brilliant witch.

"Bloody brilliant witch…" he murmured to himself, allowing his eyes to drift shut.

Hermione was screaming something—why was she screaming? He just wanted to rest—but the noise seemed to come from far away, and Ron wondered if he wasn't imagining it anyhow. It was rather annoying, though, the cries, the begging—he was tired, for goodness' sake! Honestly, couldn't a person get a wink or two around here?

As frustration bloomed in his chest, the thought entered his mind without permission:

_Kill her._

Ron shook his head slowly, trying to comprehend where that had come from. He and Hermione didn't always agree, didn't even always get along for that matter, and there had been plenty of times he'd been furious at her. But _never_ in his whole life had he even thought for a moment he wanted her dead. Hermione, dead? It was almost laughable, in a completely not-funny way. She was the other half of his soul—it would be like killing himself.

He loved Hermione.

"Love…..'Mynee…" he mumbled, and the voice came again, a bit more insistent.

_She's in pain. If you love her, stop the pain. Kill her._

Well, she certainly _looked_ like she was in pain; tears streaming down her face, hair a mess, scratches and bruises and…were those bite marks?...dotting her skin. She was still screaming something…he found it impossible to comprehend her words, though. That was odd. He blinked, that sense of danger returning, but he still couldn't hang onto it.

He felt something hard and thin press into his palm. Looking down, he saw it was his wand—the new one he'd bought from Ollivander's, not two weeks ago, just after Hogwarts. Red Oak, Dragon Heartstring, eleven inches. It was definitely the most impressive wand he'd ever owned—quick to react to his every command, but often in unexpected ways. Right now, it felt warm and vibrant in his hand, ready for action. He smiled at it—who smiles at their wand?—and stood slowly, still aching. The voice came again:

_Kill her._

He wasn't sure if it was the presence of his strong-willed wand, or the fact that he was finally getting tired of hearing that suggestion, but Ron suddenly did not feel so lethargic and compliant. He didn't want to kill Hermione; he _wouldn't_. There was a growl in his mind; whether it was his or the Voice's, he wasn't sure. It grew from mere suggestion to compulsion rather quickly. While he stood there contemplating where the Voice was coming from, his hand raised the wand of its own accord. His wand made his fingers itch and sting, almost as if it didn't want him to cast. Ron looked at his hand like it didn't belong to him; what was it doing?

The killing curse came to his mind unbidden, and he had to bite his tongue hard to keep it from passing his lips. All at once, Ron no longer felt even the slightest bit content or relaxed; something was very wrong here. He looked at Hermione, white with fear and still screaming. He used all his will to focus on her voice, try to understand her. She was almost babbling; terrified at being murdered at the hand of the man she loved:

"Please, Ron! Ron, you have to stop, I know you're in there, listen to me, dammit! It's the Imperius Curse, don't do this! Whatever he's telling you to do, you have to resist! Please! Please…." She broke off, holding his eyes with her own. The compulsion in his body grew; he grunted with the effort of holding his hand down and drew blood from biting his tongue so hard, refusing to speak.

He grew angry; _who_ was trying to make him hurt Hermione? How dare they?! He tried to remember what had happened before he'd been unconscious; hours—had it been hours? Or merely minutes?—of excruciating pain, agony like he'd never experienced….watching Rabastan Lestrange torture Hermione, helpless to stop it….being tortured, unable to stop it…then finally, blessed darkness. And when he'd woken, that detached sense of compliance. The Imperius Curse, of course. It all made sense. Rabastan thought to have Ron _himself_ kill Hermione would be the ultimate act of horror and betrayal—and he was right. But Ron had betrayed Hermione's trust once; there was no way in hell he'd be doing it again.

Still biting his tongue, he exercised every ounce of will and strength he possessed to change the spell in his head, allowing his wand to point at Hermione. Her eyes widened, and he saw in them the realization that he was about to kill her, under Rabastan's influence. The hollow look of acceptance and agony steeled his mind more than even his own will could; he silently cast the counterspell to those awful ropes, and suddenly Hermione was free.

Several things happened at once then. Hermione fell to her knees, weak and shocked at being released. Rabastan's Imperius Curse broke as he suddenly lost hold of Ron's will. Ron turned on him, all fire and rage, ready to kill him where he stood, and they began dueling. Only moments later, Ron heard the door blasted off its hinges, and ducked instinctively.

A cry rang in his ears; one Ron recognized instantly, and couldn't stop the grin from spreading over his face.

His brother was here.

* * *

For the past two hours, Harry had been unable to think of anything but Ron and Hermione, his mind conjuring all sorts of awful fates, not the least of which was the possibility that this whole army of his could walk in and find them dead already. Ginny had refused to leave his side; even when the combination of nerves, fear, and portkey travel had caused his stomach to purge itself of his supper. They only had one more jump until they reached Adelaide now, and Harry's mind spun with the image of the map he had looked at so many times it was seared into his memory. Ginny squeezed his hand and he grabbed the old hubcap, the familiar sensation of being flung into space making his empty stomach clench uncomfortably.

Moments later, they landed (a bit clumsily) on the grass just outside a large, bustling city. The crying seagulls and sparkling skyline gave the place a welcoming, cheerful appearance, but Harry knew better. Spreading out, everyone prepared to Apparate, the address Harry had given them firmly etched in their minds. Harry took half a second to look around, a rush of gratitude and affection for each of them overcoming him. He basked in the joy of it for only a moment, before turning on the spot.

The last thing he heard was several _pops!_ in rapid succession.

Then he was standing before a stately townhome, bright in the midday sunlight. He heard nothing from inside, but that was meaningless; Rabastan probably put up Silencing Charms and god-only-knows what else to ensure their privacy. Kingsley apparently had the same idea, and tried the door tentatively. It didn't budge, of course, and stung his hand in the process. Smiling grimly, he motioned for Charlie to join him and directed everyone else to stand back. Harry stepped back only a half step; he _needed_ to be inside as quickly as possible.

Charlie and Kingsley conferred for half a minute, and then turned to the door. Together, they raised their wands and there was a resounding _crash!_ as it blew inward, into the parlor. Harry dashed in, a fierce cry rising unbidden from his throat. He saw Hermione on the floor, struggling to regain her feet, pale and sweating and covered in superficial injuries. Harry hoped that was all she had managed to procure from the last two hours with Rabastan. Ron was ducked on the floor, a twisted grin making his furious face look slightly mad. He stood and cast at the exact moment Harry did, toward the regal-looking man in the center of the room.

Rabastan managed to block Harry and Ron's curses, but not Minerva McGonagall's. He went flying backwards, smacking into the opposite wall with a satisfying thud, landing awkwardly on his side. There was a wrenching snap as his wrist broke, and he howled in rage and pain. He instantly cast a protective charm to hold them at bay for only a second, then turned on the spot and was gone.

"NO!" Ron shouted, livid.

But it was done. Rabastan was gone, Hermione and her family relatively safe again. At least for the moment. He looked to Hermione, supported by Ginny and looking fierce in spite of her injuries. Their eyes met, and he rushed toward her, overcome with the sudden realization of how close he came to losing her.

_Again._

He gathered her in his arms and buried his face in her hair to hide from everyone else, certain his expression and tears were betraying every emotion he was feeling right now. She was trembling, trying not to sob out loud, and he squeezed her tight, murmuring love and gentle assurances into her ear. She murmured back:

"I thought you were going to do it for a second there."

He shuddered against her.

"So did I." He pulled back, not quite ready to acknowledge everyone else yet—he needed her to know this. "But I couldn't. I never could do that to you, you hear me? I love you."

She nodded, then took a deep breath. Ron turned to Harry and nearly tackled him, the rough hug communicating everything they wanted each other to know. He took time to thank every person who came, even allowing his mother to hold him and fuss for a good deal longer than he normally would. Hermione was in her parents' arms, they having been revived by Fleur and Minerva's ministrations. They looked like they understood now why she'd done what she did.

Ron wasn't sure whether that thought relieved or displeased him. Hermione sent them away so they wouldn't _have _to know.

And yet, they'd been attacked right here in their home. The thought made his blood boil.

A million questions whizzed through Ron's mind, not the least of which was how in the world Rabastan had managed to find them. Harry's hand on his shoulder distracted him.

"We'll get answers, mate," he said quietly, knowing what Ron was thinking. "For now, we need to get home."

"Yes, we really do," Hermione agreed, coming up beside him. "When can we leave?"

It was Kingsley who answered. "As soon as you're all ready," he stated in his low voice. "I only need a few minutes to arrange it."

Hermione glanced at her parents, who seemed a bit lost. Sarah rallied first, squeezing David's arm and managing a small smile for her daughter.

"Give us an hour."


End file.
